Because the éan olc were not fed, and that breaks the agreement.
“Meaning they’ll go after anyone in the vicinity?” Ginny asked. “Again, that can’t be a good thing, especially if René is the only person there.”
Given the witch behind their summoning would have felt his interference and undoubtedly fled, that is a likely scenario. However, as I have already said, the éan olc would not go after him unless a new contract is drawn up.
Ginny, who had the address up on Google Maps, directed me to the left, then said, “So what happens to the demons?”
They will kill the witch responsible for summoning them, but if he or she cannot be found, they will either attempt to find a new practitioner willing to deal or return to the hell from which they were drawn.
Ginny made a vague hand wave to the right; I flicked on the blinker and went that way. “Why would they trust another witch again?”
They may not, but they are owed hearts and souls, so it is in their best interest to deal with someone.
“Who, if not the witch responsible for bringing them here?”
René, possibly.
I frowned. “He’s a blank canvas, remember.”
Which does not mean he has no dealings with demons. Remember who—and what—his father was.
It was an unsettling thought.
“Hey,” Ginny said into the brief silence, “if transport spells are a thing, why aren’t they used more often? Hell, they’d be easier than damn flying everywhere. For you earthbound lot, in planes, I mean.”
“The type of magic it requires and the toll it can take on the body means they are impractical to most,” I said.
She guided me into another street, then frowned. “Meaning it’s a darker magic?”
“Yes.”
“Then how are Lanie or Luke creating them?”
“We’re not sure they are—remember, we think Orion is pulling their strings.”
She grunted, and we drove on through the maze of Brisbane streets to what could only be described as a seedier-looking neighborhood. Our target was incongruously situated between a wheel and tire place and a massage parlor. There was no parking out front, so I swung left into a side street to park. We both climbed out.
The building was a small, double-story with blue-painted bricks and “Jenkin’s Contractors” emblazoned in big gold lettering across the front window. Underneath that, it said, “Rubbish taken, scrap removed, construction or home sites, no job too large or small.”
No mention of thugs or murderers also being supplied as needed, I thought, amused.
“Place looks closed,” Ginny commented. “You seeing any magic?”
“No, but there’re cameras on either side of the building, so if someone is home, they may well have already spotted us. I’ll take the front door—you want to fly around to the back and detain anyone who tries to run out?”
She nodded. “And if we hear screaming again?”
“Remember the demons love fresh hearts, and they’re not fussed if they’re human or bird.”
“I’m thinking a bird’s heart wouldn’t even rate as a snack to them.” She touched my shoulder lightly. “Be careful.”
I nodded, watched her shift shape and fly over, then flung my handbag over my shoulder and walked across the road. Atticus appeared beside me, gaze on the building ahead.
“Can you sense anyone inside?”
I am a cat, not a bloodhound.
“But your sense of smell is far stronger than mine, is it not?”
